


The Lies We Keep

by cptnbvcks



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Cuckolding, F/M, Jealousy and Possessiveness, Mild Exhibition Kink, Mild Mentions of an Age Gap, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, friends to fuckers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27865389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptnbvcks/pseuds/cptnbvcks
Summary: There's a line you and Obi-Wan have been toeing since childhood — the kind that neither of you can admit that you've already crossed.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Reader, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 146





	The Lies We Keep

Coruscant shimmers. 

Even from below — where the crowded streets seemed to lead to damp alleyways and damp alleyways lead to unscrupulous crannies — the city was dazzling. 

You crane your head upwards, squinting at the glare of sunlight breaking apart against glass skyscrapers, throwing pillars of light into the city streets. You point a single, pudgy finger at one building in particular. 

“I think that’s the Galactic Senate building,” you state, with more confidence than actual knowledge, “That’s where Master Qui-Gon runs off to all the time, right, Obi?” 

The air shifts beside you, offering another body to buffer against the onslaught of hurried pedestrians narrowly avoiding knocking into you with their knees. The presence ripples faintly through your still adolescent grasp of the Force, warm with the fondness of familiarity. 

“You’re going to get dizzy if you keep looking up at them like that.” 

You don’t move, staring upwards until the vertigo forces you to wobble on your feet. You snap your head forward, eyes rounding as you try to swallow around the small wave of nausea suddenly threatening to bring back up the street food you both had just swindled from a mousy woman with funny appendages and spindly fingers that had hurt when she pinched your cheek. 

Your shoulder knocks into Obi-Wan’s as you teeter on your heels.

“See?” He speaks with amusement in his tone, lilting fondly in an accent rather proper for a boy of his size and age. You grin sheepishly as he brushes up next to you, allowing you to steady yourself against him for just a moment as he clears his arms from his oversized brown cloak to cross them over his chest. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?” 

The boy walks ahead of you, and the grin that spreads across your face is lopsided; decorated with a gap where one of your adolescent canines had outgrown its stay. 

“Didn’t you hear what Master Yoda said during our last lesson?” 

“Of course I do, he did say it in front of the entire class—“

Obi-Wan doesn’t notice that you’re no longer walking alongside him until he catches your voice, several steps behind him, and calling out in the most god _awful_ voice—

 _“Stubborn, this youngling is,”_ you croak out, and Obi-Wan flushes with embarrassment at the way you hunch over slightly, pretending to lean against an imaginary stick just as the well-respected Jedi Master did, _“Difficult a padawan, you will be.”_

Passers by glance down at your short form, raising brows at the child clearly holding up foot traffic in their performance. 

Obi-Wan’s by your side in a moment, his cheeks red as he puts a hand on your arm as you fall out of composure with a giggle. “Stop that,” he chides, though you don’t miss the thin restraint between his scolding and his amusement, “We shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves. The Crèche Master will have a fit if someone spots us this far from the temple—,”

_“Is that little Obi-Wan!”_

A voice booms over the crowd, the force of it just as effective at clearing a line through the bustling crowd of Coruscantians as if the man had barreled through them physically. 

Obi-Wan cringes.

You turn around, swivelling your head through the disbursing pedestrians until you spot the creature whose stature matches the voice. You spot him — standing across the street, just at the alley entrance of what a large, blinking sign identifies as a diner. 

_Massive_ is the only word that comes to mind to describe the stranger. Easily three times your size — lengthwise and widthwise — with a browning white apron stretched wide across the underside of a grey-skinned belly, which he scratches with one of the two pairs of gigantic arms. 

You don’t know the species of the man, but the man obviously knows Obi-Wan.

“Do you know who that is?” 

The man across the street laughs, stepping forward and lifting a gargantuan arm to motion the pair of you over.

You’re already instinctively lifting your hand, politely ready to wave back. 

Your hand doesn’t make it any further than above your hip before another hand catches it, small fingers encircling around your hand as Obi-Wan starts _running._ You squeak in alarm as he jolts you forward, your legs quickly falling into a fast pace behind him. 

“Obi!” You exclaim, and you want to sound scandalized by his abrupt escape, but his name falls from your mouth with a giggle that twinkles bright with excitement. 

Your fingers squeeze down around his hand — warm and clammy and your legs threaten to trip up when he squeezes back, and just for a moment he glances back to you — a flash of golden hair and bright eyes and _laughter_ . You see it spread across his mouth, bloom bright across the wild Force with spectacular brilliance until _you’re_ laughing too.

Your heart thunders loud and hard in your chest but you aren’t even registering the feeling of your feet hitting the pavement. There’s just the _warmth_ — of the Force, of his laughter, of your hand that he holds onto for far too long. 

There’s something clandestine about it, like a line shifted so subtly that your young thoughts don’t quite grasp the gravity of the breach. Not when there’s the _warmth_ of him. Not when your cheeks are red and it's like the Force itself had manifested itself visually in the baby fat still clinging to your features.

You giggle around his name again, laughing it into the blur of strangers and streets. You don’t need his attention, though he looks at you anyway. Bright eyes; warm for you. 

His hand tightens its grip on yours, though he doesn’t have to. 

You wouldn’t have let him go now. 

_“Obi!”_

—

From above, Coruscant still shimmers. 

Hyper lanes of traffic glitter under the sun, like little moveable jewels wrapping across a city that felt miniature from this high up. They flash bursts of sunbeams through the window pressed against your back.

The city pulses around you. You can sense it in the Force, much more than you ever could have as a child. It’s no longer the disorganized existence of others filling space around you at different frequencies. It’s the low, constant living hum of thousands of tiny lives above and below you, throughout the Temple, young and old, both waning and coming into power, pulsing deep with the vibrancy of generations of Jedi. 

And millions of others beyond that, right beyond the transparisteel — and millions beyond even that — 

But there’s only _one —_ always just the one — 

_“Obi-Wan —”_

Even after all these years — _years_ of knowing the Force, of knowing... _him_ — the name still sings in the atmosphere between you. Even when you gasp it out, hard and ragged against the curve of his throat as your hands clutch into the shoulders of the Jedi robes he’d long grown into. 

Obi-Wan’s breath fans hot and humid against your jaw, and then his mouth is there. Beard dragging rough against your skin, he laughs brokenly at the way your hips jolt upwards to meet the fingers already sinking between your thighs. “Yes, darling?” 

_Darling._

_Darling — when did you become darling?_

He finds you wet, slick and aching against his fingers as they drag over the seam of your cunt. His fingers part you with ease, dipping through the heat he finds there. He inhales sharply against your cheek, breathing you in while you gasp out. “Oh, I’ve left you _wanting_ , haven’t I?” 

His words zing through you, coiling hot and vicious in the muscles deep in your core and you press yourself deeper into his body, half-fearing the glass behind you may well disappear when your knees buckle too hard. His beard drags rough against the back of your shoulder, and there’s amusement in his smile when your hips jolt backwards, running from his touch and running to him and it’s useless because his hand follows, his _fingers_ — coarser now, worn from years of training and years more of fighting — 

_Yes,_ you answer without uttering anything more than a shuddered moan when the tip of his finger slips across your flesh as he dips lower, gathers more of your own wetness, and paints it across that bundle of nerves again — and _again._

 _Yes,_ you answer — over and over in your head, through the Force, with everything that connects you to the Jedi Knight threading his fingers into your hair and _pulling,_ dragging your face from his robes to hold it to the light. 

_You’ve always left me wanting._

Your eyes are glazed over, dilated and distant as they match his gaze. 

Blue eyes, golden boy, smiling easy at you when your body flutters for him and it _always_ has fluttered for him. And _Maker —_ you want him more than you should, more than you agreed, more than is _allowed_ — 

Can he see it in your eyes? Are you as transparent as the glass wall he presses the back of your head against? Does he feel them, the thousand tiny lies you’ve spent decades using as brick-and-mortar for something you wouldn’t dare unearth within you? 

Obi-Wan’s fingers curl from your scalp, cupping the space behind your ear as his other fingers _press_ , trapping your delicate nerves beneath them until your vision of him blurs apart and comes together again. He leans in, close enough to brush his lips against the edge of yours, before sliding his mouth to your cheek. Your eyes flutter when he smiles against your skin, his palm warm against your face when you tip your head back against it. 

“Talk to me, my darling, have I rendered you speechless already? We haven’t even begun yet.” 

“You’ve been gone too long again,” you swallow, trying to find the wit behind your words but all you hear is a voice that echoes a tenderness that betrays the worry that you had spent countless nights feeding in his absence. The Wars were growing too vicious — the calls were getting too close, too frequent, too _deadly._

Obi-Wan draws back, just a few inches, enough to look down at you from beneath the length of his lashes. He searches you — not with the Force, you don’t sense him there. All he does is… _observe._

You swallow again, and those blue eyes strike you down; the golden Coruscanti sun holding him in its light before you — 

A thousand little lies and the beast they bury live within you and all he does is _look._ Can he see them? Does he notice the way you purse your mouth, sink your teeth into the cushion of your lower lip to silence the truth? 

His fingers lazily trace each side of your clit, just as easy and lazed as the response that falls from his mouth. His eyes don’t drift from yours, and _maker,_ does he know? Have you betrayed yourself so easily? 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been worrying for me,” There’s a chiding tone in his voice, playful and confident. It wraps around you, his voice, his Force, all of it surrounds you. 

You don’t answer, you _can’t_ answer — not when he sinks his fingers down, when he _curls_ and _pushes_ until two of them are inside of you and you _can’t_ — “Answer me, darling. Is it worry that keeps you wandering the landing docks past hours?” 

Your eyes, half-lidded then, snap open now. 

“How—?”

“Apparently, you’re not the quietest worrier,” Obi-Wan responds lowly, voice tipped to amusement at your guilt, “And Master Fisto is very much nocturnal.” 

Your face goes hot. Embarrassment racing to your cheeks and the tips of your ears to join the heat of pleasure creeping insidiously over your body. “Have you been asking Master Fisto about me?” you manage out, your voice hitched and airy as he nips at your jaw in rebuttal, “Perhaps it's you that worries for me.” 

“What would I have to worry about?” Obi-Wan hums out, the words drawing low in his throat as he _plays with you._ He pushes his fingers deeper, brushes them up against something that flares hot across your lower belly with enough ferocity that you’re not sure if he had used the force to amplify the pleasure. He burns you through with just the tip of his finger — circling, _circling — faster and—_

“Per— perhaps I was looking for a different Je-Jedi Master,” you stutter out, the words losing their heat when he drags the coarse hair of his beard across your throat while he pulls the fabric of your robes down your shoulders with his free hand. His fingers find your nipple, and the punishing pinch he delivers steals a yelp from your throat.

“Oh? Is one not enough for you?” 

“Is that— jealousy I hear, Obi-Wan?” 

He goes silent then — the way he does when you hit too close to something akin to the truth.

There’s a new ripple in the Force — unsettled in the bond between you for just a moment; like some small, living creature emerging from beneath the surface of dark, still waters, unseen when it leaves an echo of where it had breached. It’s a flare of nostrils, a twitch of fingers and a curl of a lip — it doesn’t solidify enough for you to see it, to understand the form that had come briefly to the surface of the Force, before it draws back. 

You’re still reaching for it — that living thing that brushed against something too familiar — too _dark_ to allow to the surface — 

You don’t realize you’re reaching for him too, knotting your fingers in the hair at the base of his scalp to pull him back. He doesn’t fight you; his body comes willingly — head dipping low, lips softening when you press your mouth to his and he _growls_ for you. 

He slips his hand from between your legs, smearing your own slick across your stomach, over your hips when he drags you into the wall of his body. One of them cups against the arch of your neck, tipping your head where his lips can reach you. 

There’s teeth nipping at your bottom lip, fingers clutching you just a little _too_ tightly, hands pushing your clothing down and away a bit _too_ hastily — 

You let him — you let him strip the Jedi robes from you, let them pool around legs that he lifts until they’re wrapped around his waist and there’s something... _disrespectful_ about it. Something disrespectful in the way you hook your heels into the waistband of his own trousers and push them down until they’re low enough to free the part of him that you _needed —_

Disrespectful in the way his lightsaber hilt hits the ground with an unceremonious clatter when your knee knocks it from its holster as he tugs your legs tighter around him — 

— in the way he presses you into the glass, so there’s nowhere left for you to go when he drags the tip of his cock across your entrance. 

His mouth drops away from you, a string of saliva bridging the space between your lips as he groans out your name like a curse. The pleasure courses up through the Force, and it’s _his_ pleasure you sense _— your_ nails digging into the base of _his_ scalp — _your_ cunt, slick and fevered and stretching so deliciously over _his_ cock. 

You chase after him, hungry and wanting — always _wanting,_ starved to the core for so much _more._ It burns through you, searing heat across your skin when you feel him right _there,_ pressing against a part of you that he never should have become so familiar with, a part of you he should have never been _inside of._

Your jaw hangs slack and you can sense it — that low thrum in the Force, the life and the darkness and push of _him._ Right there, and asking for permission for you to let him in — 

He breaks you open slow — until it aches so deep that all you can do is clutch onto him, dig your nails into his flesh until he hisses through the pain, his hips _snapping_ up — 

Your scream is voiceless, choked in your throat as he _fucks you._

_“Is this what you want another Master to do to you, darling?”_

You can’t be sure if his voice reaches you through the Force or if he had muttered it into the spot on your shoulder that he sucks a dark bruise into, but the words ring in your head as if they’d existed there with the rest of your jumbled thoughts all this time. 

_“Obi-Wan—”_

_“Is there another that knows how wet you get when I’ve been gone for too long? Do they know what you let me do to you when no one is around?”_

_No,_ your thoughts are fractured, disjointed and unclear and he’s _inside_ of you — _Obi-Wan_ — and it isn’t the first time. He’s been inside of you for _years_ now, in more ways than you can count, more often than you can remember. _No one else._

There’s that ripple again — rising through the murk of pleasure clouding the Force. It’s dark — a shadow of a thing much bigger than you’d recognized the first time — 

It’s nails scratching into flesh, marking across his skin as his teeth sink into your shoulder. It’s the bruises that show up the next day that only he knows about — it’s the growl that rattles deep in his chest when for a glimmer of a moment he imagines you getting _fucked_ — not by him, by _others —_

Your body curls into his thrusts as the images flash through with striking clarity — as if he’d thought of them through to far too much detail. 

_Master Fisto_ — _your wrists held behind your back in one of his hands as he fucks up into you in his dimly lit chambers —_

 _Master Plo_ — _gripping your tits as he holds your back to his chest in the middle of the meditation chambers —_

 _Commander Rex_ — _pushing your head down while you gag around him in the back of the loading docks —_

_Qui-Gon —_

This one comes with more clarity than the others, like it had been festering within him for _years_ . Revisited again and again until the details were _right_ — until it seemed _true,_ close enough to a reality he created without any basis in the truth. 

You’re _younger_ in this vision, your padawan braid still wound tightly at the back of your ear, too long to be freshly given but not yet long enough to signal the end of your padawanhood. 

Your body feels small, only just bridging into womanhood, and so much smaller than the _man above you_ — 

Your eyes look up, rounding in shock and staring up at a spot on the ceiling but you still _see —_

_Qui-Gon, his hand wrapped around your throat as he fucks you vulnerable and open, your legs spread across his thighs as his fingers circle tight and fast over your clit, imploring your muscles to clench down tighter and tighter around the cock that spears into you — over and over and over —_

You _feel it._ Fingers over your clit, just how Obi-Wan knows you like it, but they’re not _his_ fingers. You feel _his_ fingers catching your nipple between the lengths of his fingers as he squeezes the mound of flesh he finds there; _his_ hand clutching the underside of your thigh — 

Your back slides across the transparisteel, against bed sheets, as he draws back — Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon — just enough for your body to sink— before driving back into you with enough force that your body jolts higher — over and _over and over_ — 

_“Don’t you wonder what it would be like?”_

The voice is Qui-Gon’s and Obi’s and — 

And you’re _running_ from it. 

_No, no —_

Hands tug at golden hair, pulling his face up until his mouth parts against yours as you finally gasp in a breath his former Master had prevented you from taking. You whimper into the kiss as you draw your fingers down into his beard to feel the way his jaw works when he licks into your mouth. 

There’s desperation there, flaring so bright in the Force that there’s no doubt he’s sharing the sensation — feeding it back into you as quickly as you push it onto him. 

_You only want him. There’s only him._

“Look at me, darling,” his voice commands you — deep and proper and finally fitting of the man that speaks it. 

You listen. 

Blue eyes — _darker_ now. They search your face, reading the pleasure that wrenches across your knotted brow and slackens your jaw. It’s all _his._ Your pleasure, your desire — all of it is _his._

_“It’s right there, isn’t it, darling?”_ He’s in your head — breathless and everywhere and when you sob your pleasure, it’s out loud and broken and you shut your eyes so tightly that light dances behind them. His voice is all you clutch onto in the darkness, all that guides you. _“I can feel it. Right_ **_there._ ** _”_

His cock slams up against something magnificent inside of you, pleasure wrenching down the notches of your spine, hardening your nipples and arcing over your hips until you’re gushing hot and wet over the hilt of him. Words evade you, your thoughts bursting apart and coming together and breaking apart again and you’re pushing against his shoulders while he pushes you tighter to the glass and he’s still _watching you— still fucking you—_

There’s something under the surface, serpentine and _selfish_ in the way he devours the image of you like this, shuddering on his cock, blinking up at him like he’s the only thing your debauched brain can register _—_

Coruscant shimmers — the Temple hums — and you pray you aren’t projecting, that the sudden heat that snaps across the Force and seizes your body into frantic spasms doesn't reach the High Masters several floors above you when he takes your hand from his face, laces his fingers through your own, and pins it to the window behind you. 

His mouth is on you again, swallowing your moans as he shatters you, over and _over —_

The Force is only him now, him and you and your body and what he’s doing to you — 

Obi-Wan’s hips stutter up into you, his rhythm faltering as you clench down, inviting him deeper into your body until the coarse hair speckling over his pelvis grinds over your already aching clit. You whine into his mouth, your voice useless as you beg for him without breaking away from his kiss. 

_Inside, Obi — cum inside of me. I’m yours, I’m yours, always — make me yours —_

He listens. 

His cock twitches, thick and hard when he spills _deep,_ filling you until you know he’s _there_ — _inside_ , pumping you full until it drips down onto the pile of robes beneath you. It’s your name he groans low with it, claiming the word, claiming _you_. 

There’s a silence that falls in the moments after, when he slumps against you, holding you to the glass as he nudges his head and mouth against the juncture of your throat to catch his breath. 

_Shame._ There’s always been shame. It radiates from him this time, a low frequency aura that you know runs deeper than he allows you to sense. 

Another line, shifted. 

Somewhere deep in both of you — in the deep waters, in the entombed shrine that houses something that grows too loud to ignore every time he’s inside of you — you both know the line had lost its integrity ever since he had taken your hand to keep a small childhood secret. 

His hand tightens its grip on yours, but you wouldn’t have let him go. 

He gives you another secret here. Another lie to tell yourself — that you haven’t yet crossed that imaginary line that Jedi were forbidden to test. That your beasts of truth still sleep, though unsettled, within you both.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote the intro to this literally months ago as a drabble that i never finished and i'm not sure how it took a turn for the horny and the dark but if you enjoyed, you can find me on tumblr @cptnbvcks!


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